


Dreams, Unwarded

by Trismegistus (Lebateleur)



Category: The Doctrine of Labyrinths
Genre: Blow Jobs, Dream Sex, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Sibling Incest, Yuleporn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-18
Updated: 2019-12-18
Packaged: 2021-02-18 07:16:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,012
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21840379
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lebateleur/pseuds/Trismegistus
Summary: Dear GlassRain - Happy Yuletide! Thank you for the opportunity to write about these two, and with such great prompts. I too admit a weakness for frantic brothercest from which Our Heroes can't seem to get out.
Relationships: Mildmay Foxe/Felix Harrowgate
Comments: 16
Kudos: 37
Collections: Yuletide 2019





	Dreams, Unwarded

**Author's Note:**

  * For [GlassRain](https://archiveofourown.org/users/GlassRain/gifts).



In my dream Felix is sucking my cock. We’re standing in the Klepsydra or some other river—it keeps changing, on account of it being a dream—and the water swirls around us as he works. His hands are warm where they’re splayed on my thighs and his head bobs up and down in time with the current as he licks, teasing at me.

The door opens, and suddenly we’re not in the Klepsydra any more, and it’s not a dream.

Felix is standing in the entrance to my room. The coals in the grate of that giant fireplace of his give off enough light that his hair is haloed by the glow and he looks like one of the avenging saints they got painted on the walls in Min-Terris-in-Pharaohlight. He stands and looks at me, and powers and saints, I’m glad I can’t see his face.

We stay like that for what feels like an indiction.

Finally, Felix’s shoulder gives this little twitch, almost like he’s laughing, although he doesn’t make any sound, and a moment later he’s standing by the bed. It happens so fast I almost think it’s still a dream. 

But I know better, and it ain’t. “No,” I say, but it comes out like a croak.

“You have to,” he says, in this voice that ain’t nothing like the silky thing he puts on in court or for his worshipers in the Cult of Felix. This voice is command and question and pleading all mangled up in each other, and it must be bad tonight if he’s willing to let me hear it.

“Gideon,” I whisper, and his teeth flash in the dark. It ain’t a pretty smile. “Discovered he had a previous engagement in the library,” he says, and I know he’s picked a fight to get Gideon out of the room.

I can feel your dreams, he’d said one morning as we walked back from court, calm as you please. Kethe, I almost choked on my tongue.

“That ain’t something people can do,” I’d told him.

“Isn’t,” he’d said, and then told me exactly what I’d dreamed about him doing to me that night. He’d said it had nothing to do with the obligation d’âme. He’d said it didn’t matter that people can dream about all sorts of things they didn’t want while they were awake—did I think _he_ didn’t know that—because I kept having the dreams and letting him into ‘em in the bargain. He’d said sometimes the only way to stop having notions like mine was to go through with them once. Even now I couldn’t tell you if I wanted to believe him or not. 

But I was still having the dreams and he was still getting into them, and here we were.

He sits down on the very edge of the bed. I’m still half-hard from the dream, so when he puts his hand on me and starts to stroke, it don’t take long to get my cock worked up again, even through the blankets. The Mirador’s got blankets so soft you can’t even imagine—even the cotton ones feel like silk, and the heat from his skin goes right through them like they ain’t even there.

I make a little sound and cut it off, but not before Felix hears it.

“Will you let me?” he says. “I’ll make it good for you—I have before. I already know what you want tonight.” His hands are already pulling the blankets away and he doesn’t wait for an answer. His breath is hot on my skin, and for a long time he just teases me with that. Then he reaches up while I watch the light from the dying coals play across his arms, and lets his hair out of its queue. 

He drops his head till the tips of his curls touch my skin, and then he teases me with that too.

When he finally takes me in his mouth it’s just to suck and lap at the very tip of my cock, like it’s one of them delicate little statues they got in the nooks in the Pomgarnet Gallery— _objets d’art_ , Felix’d corrected me once in front of all his admirers—and he’s afraid he’ll break it. 

“I could make you come from this alone,” he whispers, and Kethe, I believe him. His fingers trace curves over my thighs, hot as the tip of his tongue, and I’ve got my fists clenched in the sheets at my side so I don’t do something worse with them.

It feels like a great septad goes by before he takes me full in his mouth. His eyes flicker at me behind the curtain of his hair. Then he combs it over one shoulder so I can see the muscles working in his jaw as he gets his mouth all the way down over me. I shut my eyes but that doesn’t help me none because powers, I can still hear the sounds his mouth is making.

“Mildmay,” he says after each long pull. When I can’t take it no more, I pry my fingers off the sheets and reach for his face. His hair tangles around my fingers like it’s trying to keep them there. He turns to rub his lips against my palm—and I swear, even his lips feel feverish—and tries to go right back to what he’s doing.

“Felix,” I say, but it comes out all slurred. I swallow, trying to get some moisture back into my throat. “Powers, stop.” 

It’s another moment before I can get him to pay attention. And even then, he doesn’t stop running his fingers over my legs and chest, all warm metal on his rings and warmer skin.

I make myself look him in the face. And then I say what I mean to say, and let me tell you, it ain’t easy to get the words out. But I manage it. “Let me do something for you, alright?”

He leans back, and I can see his eyes glittering at me from behind the curtain of his hair. “You would like to ‘do something’ for me?” he asks, all careful.

I swallow and nod. He smiles, and it ain’t no nice look. 

“I want you to fuck my mouth,” he says. And then he pulls back until he’s on his knees at the foot of the bed before me, and my body follows his as nicely as if he’d asked. It ain’t the obligation d’âme or anything, it just happens before I can think to stop it.

Powers, Milly-Fox, I think. You don’t ever learn, do you? He don’t mean it. And you don’t want to know what’ll happen if you try to call his bluff. I know I gotta do something, but I’m caught like Lestor’s cat in the children’s story after the majordomo catches it stealing the cream.

“I want you,” he says again, the edge on each consonant precise enough to sharpen knives on, “to fuck my mouth.” The next moment my hands are twisted in his hair and I’m shoving my cock as far into his throat as it’ll go. I ain’t proud of it or nothing, but that’s what happens.

He groans, like it feels good, like it’s what he’s been waiting for. Like it’s what he wants, but I know that ain’t true, along of how the Mirador’s walls seem to have been built to carry noise instead of dampen it. And furtive noises most of all. I’ve heard everything him and Gideon get up to next door, over the past two indictions, and it ain’t this. Felix’d never allow it even if Gideon tried.

But the bitch kitty of it is, the moaning’s not his fault. It’s what his keeper would’ve taught him to do when they were training him up. But all the same, it doesn’t sound like an act, when Felix does it, and it makes me angry for a bunch of reasons I can’t look at too closely. I twist my fingers in the hair at the base of his neck and fuck him harder, until the moans turn into thick, wet sounds, like he’s not getting enough air.

My stomach turns over. “Powers, Felix,” I gasp, “I didn’t mean—” I drop my hands and back away on unsteady legs.

His hands shoot out, grip my legs, fingers digging in tight enough I even feel it through the scar. “Don’t—don’t you _dare_ stop,” he hisses, and the Lower City’s so thick in the words I could drown in it.

My hands are starting to shake, so I twist them back in his hair and he groans his approval. Fuck me sideways till I cry, I think, but of course it’s only me fucking him in the mouth, hard and sharp as I can. He keeps his eyes locked on me this time, so I can’t look away, can’t shut ‘em and change my mind about what we’re doing. 

And his face—powers, I can’t describe it. I’d never seen such pure fierce joy there, not ever, like there was nothing I could do to him right now that he _wouldn’t_ want. So I look him straight in the eye while my hands twist in his hair and my cock disappears down his throat, over and over.

He wrests himself away from me and I’m falling over myself to say I’m sorry, to let him know that I wouldn’t—not in his mouth, not without telling him first, and it’s a moment before I realize that’s not what he wants at all. 

“Fuck me, please, Mildmay, I _need_ —” He has me by the hands and he’s pulling me down onto the carpet beside him, spooky eyes wild and unfocused. I have my hands on him, on his face, his shoulders and chest, and I can’t say whether I’m trying to calm him down or push him away or just touch him.

But I’ve never learned how to distract Felix from what he wants, or tell him no when it’s something he needs as badly as this. I grab him by the shoulders, rough—he twists his neck around and kisses my hands—and roll him onto his stomach.

“I’ll do it,” I croak, “but only like this.”

It’s cruel, but I know how he feels about those scars on his back, and if there’s anything that’ll get him to stop and think about what he’s doing, and if he’ll still feel the same way about it once we’re done, this is it.

Only even that ain’t enough. He cries out—something that’s trying to be words but don’t quite make it all the way there, and spreads himself before me. And powers and saints help me, I can’t stop myself anymore neither. I take him by the waist and mount him while my mind screams at me—Milly-Fox, it don’t work like this with a man—but my body doesn’t register the warning in time for me to do anything about it.

I slide into him like a knife through silk purse strings. He moans, hips rising up to meet me, and I wonder how many times he’s come in here after getting himself ready for this, and ended up stopping short of trying for anything more than the polite little things he gets up to with Gideon.

It takes a minute for us to get sorted, along of how we’re each aiming for a different rhythm, but when he lets me take control I fuck him harder than I’ve ever let myself fuck anyone.

“Is it good?” he asks, between shudders and gasps as I ride him. 

“’S good,” I tell him, cause it is. And I keep my mind on that—how good it feels to fuck, how good it feels to have all of him focused on me. And I don’t let myself think about anything else, till it can’t build up any more and it washes over us both like river water closing over our heads.

**Author's Note:**

> Dear GlassRain - Happy Yuletide! Thank you for the opportunity to write about these two, and with such great prompts. I too admit a weakness for frantic brothercest from which Our Heroes can't seem to get out.


End file.
